On a cobblestone road in Italy, I found new hope for humanity

When you set out on a trip, you never know what you might find when you arrive. Whether you are getting in the car or boarding a plane, your travels can lead to new discoveries.

Isn’t that why we love to travel, to see or do something different from our daily routine?

When I went on a work trip to Italy, I knew I would be reunited with colleagues from across Europe. I knew that we would eat good food and drink good wine, both of which are hallmarks of Italian culture.

What I didn’t know was that when the meetings ended, and I had a few days to wander, that I was going on a pilgrimage. Little did I know that when I wandered off the beaten path, I would find myself in the midst of ancient mysteries.

Can going to a new place change you? Absolutely.

You could say that I am a spontaneous person with a high tolerance for risk. My work involves going to dangerous places. It’s my job to analyze war zones. I work on developing strategies for protecting civilians caught in the crossfire.

Having worked in numerous conflict zones, I have seen that adversity can bring about the best in people in the worst conditions. There are moments of light in the darkest places. Yet on this trip, I was going to Italy. There were no disasters to be concerned with back then.

I had booked a stay in a castle on an organic vineyard in the town of Monselice, about an hour south of Venice. Driving through the countryside laden with fields growing prosecco grapes, seeing the sun dance on the hills, was remarkable enough to call it an extraordinary day.

As I turned on the dirt road leading up to the 500-year-old castle that held the oldest organic wine caves in the area, I was surprised to find the driveway full of cars. It was the first day of May, the Festa dei Lavoratori, the Italian version of Labor Day when everyone was at rest or play. Families were relaxing on the castle grounds, playing games with children on the lawn, as friends gathered around picnic tables listening to music by the wine cellar.

When I sat down at a picnic table to join the festivities, pink petals fell from flowering trees like confetti, littering the ground with celebration. It was a feast for the eyes, and minutes later, a server had placed another feast before me – a plate of cheese and charcuterie accompanied by fresh bread and fresh wine from the caves just steps away.

As the sun went down, I took my glass of prosecco over to the hills where the light of day faded into a soft array of rose-colored shades. I laughed as the pink flower petals blew across the landscape, daring me to make a wish big enough to capture their expanse. I made a wish that night, that every day could be as beautiful as this one.

The next morning as I walked around the castle grounds of Castello de Lispida, I could see the men pruning the fields before the sun came up. I found one of the bicycles that guests could use to take the footpath into town, and after grabbing a bite of breakfast, I made my way to the town center.

As I biked the footpath into town, I had one destination in mind. Towering Cini Castle, which could be seen at the top of the hill in the center of Monselice from every angle. The castle was made up of multiple structures including ancient towers and an impressive fort.

As I meandered through the winding streets that led to the castle gate, I stopped at the entrance. Dozens of schoolchildren were about to enter for a guided tour with their teachers. Seeing that the castle was crowded, I parked my bike and looked around. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the road continued beyond the castle gate.

An old cobblestone road kept winding further up the hill, beckoning me onward. Where does this go, I wondered? From down below, it seemed as though the castle was at the end of the road, the very top of the hill. But now, I had gone well past that point. There was something more ahead, but I wasn’t sure what exactly.

Image: Cobblestone road beyond the castle

There was no one on the road made of stones. I walked down the middle of the winding street, stopping occasionally to gaze at the magnificent view of town down below. I was level with the birds soaring past me, right below the clouds.

When I came to what seemed like the end of the road, the entrance to an old church was facing the road. There was a small courtyard with a tree out front, that resembled an outdoor waiting room for visitors. Yet, there was no one there but me, or so I thought.

The large wooden door at the front of the church looked locked. When a man saw me, he motioned me over to the side door, waving his hand as if to say, follow me. I quietly slipped inside. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was stepping into Monselice Cathedral, built in 1256, the beginning of a “holy town in miniature,” modeled after sites in Rome where pilgrims came to seek forgiveness from their sins.

Image: Monselice Cathedral, built in 1256

The church was dark and sparsely decorated, with rays of light coming in through stain glass windows. It was too dark to take a picture. When more light appeared through the windows, I could see the face of a small woman carefully lighting candles at one of the prayer stations.

As I stepped forward, the wooden floors creaked, and the woman whispered, Shhh as if I had disturbed something more than her peaceful day. She gestured to me, as if to say this is a holy place.

At risk of overstaying my welcome, I sat down in the back of the church. I decided to pray, but I wasn’t sure what to pray for exactly. I lifted my head and looked at the front of the church. Light was coming through the narrow-stained glass windows of the dark church. So, I prayed for light, for more light to light up the dark places in the world.

There seemed to be another message in the cracks of light shining through the darkness. I prayed for new life to bring hope and healing to all living things. I prayed that I would really enjoy living, so I could be fully alive as I was now, in this moment.

At the castle back on the vineyard, I had seen a number of ancient symbols for time and the calendar, for telling the time of day by the rays of the sun and the days of the week. So, I also prayed for a greater awareness of my time and purpose under the sun.

Lastly, I prayed for happiness, to fully enjoy the goodness of being alive. My mind began to wander, wondering where does happiness come from? Not being sure of the answer and not wanting to ruin the moment, I got up to light a candle.

I had a sense that one candle was not enough. I lit another candle, then another, looking over my shoulder to make sure the woman in the church wasn’t giving me cues to stop. With each candle that I lighted, I prayed for light and life, time and happiness for all people. As I thought about what the world would be like if everyone was free to live their best life, I was happy.

As I left the church, I offered one last prayer for the journey to continue. The stone road continued on past the church. When I reached the top of the winding path, I gasped at the sight in front of me, a large yellow cathedral surrounded by a stately garden sat perched on the other side of the hill. Surely this is a divine place, I said to myself.

Image: Saint George’s Cathedral, Seven Pilgrimages of Rome

It was so beautiful, your heart could break, or mend. Mine was mending. I had seen sacred places lying in ruins, people’s lives desecrated by acts of brutality. I thought about people whose lives were devastated by war on a daily basis. If men and women could build such incredibly beautiful places, then they can rebuild the ruined places too.

A gate made of iron, with roman numerals at the top, indicated I was entering a place of significance. But I could not tell from the signs around me, where was I exactly?

Later that day, I learned that I had reached the “The Seven Pilgrimages of Rome,” a place modeled after the basilicas dedicated by Pope Paul the V in 1605 who granted plenary indulgences, freedom from unknown sins, to all the pilgrims who made the journey to the top of Monselice. In the 1600s, not every Italian could make it to Rome. Climbing the hill also brought a Year of Jubilee to all who made the journey, forgiving all debts and marking a period of favor.

From the end of the cobblestone street, there is a descending path of long steps that takes you the last church along the pilgrimage. It had big eyes painted on front, which seemed to say, that there is a God who sees you. I didn’t know where I was at the time, but when I saw the big eyes, I laughed. I knew that I had finished the path.

Image: Eyes on the church, bottom of the hill

Some days, life feels like a long and windy road without a destination. We stumble along, not knowing where the path will take us, yet trusting we are going somewhere. That day, it felt like the path chose me. I was the only pilgrim who made the journey, and I didn’t even know where I was. But I somehow knew that it was a special place with a significant story, and I tried to listen as I went along unknowingly.

Taking the road along the Seven Pilgrimages was a delightful surprise. It was the road less traveled, the road beyond what I thought was my destination at the top of the hill. Yet many people had come here before, seeking freedom from their burdens.

Wherever you are today, whether you are in a familiar place or stepping onto new ground, look for the winding path that peaks your curiosity. The unexpected journey can lead to a new discovery. You might start looking at an old place in new ways or be inspired to chart a new direction.

The road along the Seven Pilgrimages gave me hope, breaking my heart open with a beauty so rich, that it felt sacred. Being in Monselice, with its prosecco fields and flowering trees, ancient castles and winding roads, spoke to me about the beauty of living in such a deep way that I wanted to live longer, better, and more fully than ever before.

Can a place transform you? Yes, it can.

The road to an unknown destination can become the pilgrimage that sets you free.